


The Festival of Acceptance. Skye's Perspective.

by DaveBland



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26324227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaveBland/pseuds/DaveBland
Summary: This is part of a larger chunk of work I've been designing for a while. This is from the perspective of Skye Falmoore and Ah'gri, the other part is from the perspectives of Hansel and Frederick. No two sets of characters have actually met up yet, and I don't know if ill get round to making them meet up. Both stories do take place in the same world.All stories are writ in British English. All none fantastical locations are real unless specified in notes.All stories are open for comments, I always want more comments! :3This is very unlikely to be completed. Just wanted to get that out there.
Kudos: 1





	The Festival of Acceptance. Skye's Perspective.

_“Out there, where the forest meets the plains, stand ancient, crumbling temples to the forgotten gods. When the sixth day of the seventh month of the year of a score and two dozen comes, their doors will be opened once more._

_The gods will return to seek that which they have lost, and all shall be drawn into their grasp. All are the same in their eyes, nought but heretics and revisionists who took the land from them._

_That is when they, with pens in hand shall revert us to those long-forgotten days, chained to their ancient ways. Only then can they be truly defe-”_

Skye turned off the recording. They had always wondered why grandma had spent the last years of her life studying ancient writings from the Sub-Saharan jungles of Africa. Why such nonsense was so important had ever escaped them. They seemed to ramble on endlessly of impossible things, and magical beasts. But maybe, just maybe, if they looked through those last bits of research they could figure out why it was so important. Skye turned the recording back on, it took the old tape a couple of seconds to get spinning again, but it played after a little bit of whirring.

_“-ated.”/sounds of breaking glass/” ‘And there it goes again. Ada, how long did it stay together this time?’ ‘Twenty minutes ma’am, five less than last time.’ ‘I guess this is the last time we will see the inscription, take a photo, would you?’”_

Skye looked at the photograph, the last one taken by their grandmother, and it was of her, Ada, and a glass tablet. Why did the tablet keep breaking and repairing? Why was it doing so faster each time? Their grandmother’s notes did not offer any answers, but they did provide a location. 

`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It was two weeks later, and they were on a plane headed for The Congo. They, and a few other less than reputable individuals, landed at Kinsagi Bohka. There wasn’t much there bar a terminal and the occasional lorry. A tour bus that looked more like a military van appeared from a side road, a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard and worn down clothes hailed them from the cab. 

“Hey you four!” he shouted, seeming not to realise they were mere metres from each other, “You here for the park? I’m ‘ere to pick up a-,” There was the sound of crumpling paper and jangling keys as he pulled a post-it note from his pocket, “Sk- Skeya? Skeyea? Ske?”

Realising he was looking for them, Skye responded,

“It’s Skye, sir.” Stumbling slightly over the jagged road, she reached him and asked, “Are you Mr. Ah-ragi?”

“Yes, yes, that’s me” he replied, chuckling, “It’s been a’while since I’ve heard a voice like yours. You must be that old scientist type from a’few years back’s kid, what was her name again….” 

The old fellow pondered for a moment as he pulled the canvas door at the back of the bus away, revealing a few planks of wood that could barely count as a bench, and piles of rope and tools of all shapes and sizes. Looked more like a shed than a bus really.

“Are you sure I should sit back here?” Sky said in a wobbly voice.

“Oh yes, perfectly safe, don’t worry yerself.”

Skye climbed in, stumbling slightly over a piece of sheet metal. Before, with only a bungee cord and good intentions holding them in place, the ‘bus’ sped off into the forest.

As they drove, miraculously, no matter how rocky and bumpy the road, not a single tool moved more than a millimetre. At some points on the journey, they couldn’t even tell if it was actually driving on the coarse jungle trail beneath them, or floating at high speed through the thick damp air around them.

“‘ere’s a little village up ahead” Ah’ragi called back, an hour into the journey, “Well stop there before we head into the jungle proper, don’t mind if they say anythin’, you’ll be fine.”

Before Skye could respond, the ‘bus’ shook heavily as it swerved to a halt. Everything jumped, then slowly floated back to position.

“Store’s just there.” Ah’ragi said, pointing a rough finger at a comparatively polished looking cement building, shining like a beacon of modernity among the ramshackle huts of the surrounding area.

As they stepped into the store, the scent of vinegar and washing up liquid overwhelmed her nostrils. But before her eyes were aisles of slightly off and discounted bread, three-day-old milk, and beans you would swear could talk. The cloud of smoke behind the counter grumbled something about how “There were safer things in the fridge to the left.” afore disappearing through the back door.

Feeling a little perturbed, Skye lifted out a mildly fresh one-day-old bottle of “lychee” juice from the shelf. They weren’t even sure what lychee was. They grabbed a “Birdseye sandwich” which wasn’t off but looked like lizards on toast and headed to the counter. They rang the bell to see if anyone would respond and a cold green cloud appeared, scanned their items, then grumbled:

“Five hairpins and a cigarette for that please…” The mist floated up and down. As if searching for something that might betray who it was talking to, “Please... human! Quickly now, I haven’t got all day.”

Slightly confused, Skye asked, 

“But.. surely everyone’s human? And aren’t I the only person in this store besides you?”

The almost formless fog seemed to spin in a ..disagreeable? Way.

“You’ ‘umans, always going on about how yer the only people in ‘ere.” He grumbled in a voice like thrashing rain, “What about old Theodore over there? He’s been waiting patiently for you to pick up yer snacks and leave for’t pas’ ten minutes.”

A large bee buzzed with a sound like a lawnmower rather angrily from behind Skye. As if agreeing that they should hurry up and off.

Skye wondered for a moment if they should ask if the fog meant the bee, before saying,

“Surely you’re human behind all that... Mist?”

The mist seemed to get colder as if glaring Skye for saying something incredibly rude. In a slightly ominous tone, the mist said,

“You really don’t cotton on quickly, do you? If I was you right now, I’d take my change, and leave.”

With that, the mist seemed to slump slightly on a chair behind the counter. Skye took up their change and shopping, then left. 

Skye, slightly perturbed, asked Ah’gri as to why bees and insects were treated like people. 

Ah’gri looked at Skye like they were a piece of NF scum asking why black people were considered human and said:

“Skye, I don’t know about wherever you come from, but here if it can communicate it’s a person. An’ most er’ything from the tallest trees to the tiniest ants is capable of that in some respect. If you dont agree whit’ that I’d suggest you keep it to yerself.”

Skye apologised, but they couldn’t help but wonder as to why everything here was sentient in that manner. Or did those bugs and mist from up north back home speak in the same manner, and were those “Old Smiling Oaks” genuinely smiling...

Ah’gri seemed tense after that, and the forest around them seemed to glare at them, like a crowd of oppressed peoples watching their dictator on parade. The bus still seemed to float, but the ride was bumpier now. As if whatever had kept it smooth before had left them. For a time the path beneath would seem to become more ragged and rough, only to smooth out again, until eventually, it devolved into a tangled mess of roots and rocks. Almost out of nowhere, a radio started to scream from beneath the chaos of rope and tools. It took them a second to get it out, but Skye soon managed to pull out the antenna on the old AM thing that it was, and its incoherent screeching became a lovely tune. After about ten minutes of light music, a small, hum like voice arose from the background noise. Its words were practically inaudible, but as it became more prominent, the roots beneath them gave way to smooth, almost ice-like stone. Seemingly covered inch by inch in iconography of beasts and insects. Rivers of blackened water lined the edge of every block of khaki stone.

Soon they reached a clearing so tremendous and wide its borders could just barely be sighted. The area was clearly aged as even the trees at the edges seemed to twist and convey in a manner expected of only the most ancient of trees elsewhere. At its centre stood a great pyramid but at its sides stood buildings of all kinds, but all religious. Grand mosques with great twisting domes towered beside African orthodox churches of stocky simple construction, Synagogues akin to only the great temple in grandeur stood back to back with Sikh pavilions. Statues of gods both Egyptian and Greek, stood hand in hand atop the backs of Zoroastian beasts. Celtic henges lined the border, with offerings still sat at the bases of great stones. The skeleton of an elephant, seemingly fossilised, stood atop a colossal central plinth. Yet, seemingly despite the efforts of all these monuments, not a single human could be seen. Clouds of mist and apes of all sizes, great flies, and spiders only myths could begin to describe seemingly mingled like men, clothed in religious regalia and carrying staffs of all woods. A spider changed to be almost human and knocked on the window of Ah’gri’s bus, their deep violet lips enunciated each syllable with great care, as if not having spoken in centuries.

“Ah, it has been millennia since a Human has come to our festival. But fate appears to have placed two of you on our doorstep. Why, the last time a human came here, even outside of festival time, was decades ago. That too was a first in years.”

The spider-human-thing realised that, while Ah’gri didn’t seem at all phased by the events unfolding around them, Skye seemed not only very confused but absolutely petrified by the whole thing.


End file.
